Canon Fodder
by bookstoreromantic
Summary: Mostly tumblr drabbles of stuff that isn't (or won't be) canon featuring Captain Swan and the Charming Family.
1. A Winter Hiatus Fic

_a/n: It's like_ _Christmas in July! This was part of a fic I started during the winter hiatus and never finished. I wanted a second-attempt TLK but also something more action-oriented. Going in, you should know that prior to this Killian gave Henry & Emma the book, but it's been magically updated to also show the story since season 1._

"Emma. Run."

"What _is_ that?"

Killian crossed the space between them and forced the potion into her hand, closing her fingers around it roughly. "Trust me love, run."

"I don't—"

Pulling a long knife from the inside of his boot, he put himself in between her and the treeline. "Now, Swan! Go!"

Everything in her was screaming at her to listen to him. To turn around and run as fast and as far as she could, to forget that she had ever agreed to hear him out. But she couldn't get her feet to listen. Emma stayed rooted to the spot — fingers fumbling to push the glass bottle into the pocket of her jeans — as a monster stepped out from the trees and bellowed at them.

It looked like something from a nightmare, though not one she could recall ever having. The one-eyed creature was at least thirty feet tall, wielding a spiked club that was as big as a man. Killian was moving towards it cautiously and Emma realized that it wasn't too late; she could still run.

Run, and leave the stranger who knew her to die at the hands of some hideous giant that shouldn't possibly exist. Except it did. And if giants were real then everything else must be too and Killian Jones — whoever he was to her — had come to find her and bring her home.

Nobody had ever come to find her before.

Emma didn't remember making the decision to move. Before she was aware of what was happening she was running towards Killian just as the giant's club was coming down for a swing. With something between a scream and a shout she launched herself at her stalker, knocking them both to the ground, just barely below the range of the giant's swing.

Killian ground out a curse and scrambled over to her, covering her body with his own as the monster swung again. Emma grabbed onto the lapels of his coat, her fingers digging into the thick leather, and squeezed her eyes shut. There was a bright flash that lasted less than a second and she wondered briefly if that was all she would get of the supposed light at the end of the tunnel. She thought of Henry, and tried to brace herself for the club's impact but it never came and her eyes blinked open as the giant gave a frustrated howl.

"Emma, what did you do?"

Killian's voice was rough in her ear and she let go of the coat to stare at her hands. Had she done something? He was still covering her with his body — his face only an inch from hers, breath hot in her ear.

"I, I don't—" Her eyes went wide as the giant struck again. He winced, but the club bounced uselessly off Killian's back. "The coat. I think it's your coat."

His head turned towards her sharply, stubbled jaw scratching her cheek, and she met his eyes for a moment before he shifted so that she was completely underneath him, popping the collar of his coat and ducking his head down to better protect them both. "Tuck your feet in, love," he whispered, voice low in her ear.

Emma complied, but her mind was already racing ahead, adrenaline making connections for her that she would never have been able to sort through under normal circumstances. _She_ had turned his coat into a magical shield, just more proof that everything he'd said, everything in that damn book, was true. An old friend, he'd called himself right before he'd kissed her in an attempt to make her remember him. But clearly he was more than that. He loved her, and she couldn't remember him. The book had talked about the power of true love's kiss — it was how she'd broken the original curse when Henry had nearly died but it never would have worked if she hadn't _believed_ first.

Like she believed _now_.

Sucking in a breath, Emma tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his as another strike from the giant — _from the ogre_ — hit his coat.

He broke the contact almost immediately. "I'm flattered that's how you'd choose to go out, truly. However, I'd much rather we survive this mess."

Her breath was coming in heaving gulps of air and Emma struggled to push everything back down. It was too much and he was right; they needed a plan. She was not about to die. She would not leave her family. Not ever again. Digging her elbows into the ground, she pushed herself up his body so she could see some of what was going on, ignoring Hook's hiss to stay still.

Emma reached back for the memory of the last time she'd come face to face with an ogre. The eye was its weakness, but the damn thing was too tall and she didn't have her gun on her. All they had was Hook's knife and throwing it was a long shot at best. They'd be utterly screwed if it missed. Unless...

"When I tell you to, roll us as fast as you can to your right."

"That plan leaves something to be desired, love."

It was still a long shot, but if she could bring the ogre down to their level… "Just trust me. When I say, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't question her further. Pressing their bodies even closer together, he shifted and tried to get the edges of the coat underneath her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Aye."

Emma forced everything else aside (including quips about _more enjoyable activities_) and kept her eyes glued to the trees. Her nails dug into her palms as she tried to bring the magic up. She could _feel_ it, it was _right there_.

"Emma?"

One of the trees creaked, and she gripped onto Hook's vest in an attempt to hold on. "Now!"

They rolled in a tangle of legs as the tall cedar she'd been focusing on suddenly uprooted itself and fell, concussing the ogre before hitting the ground where they'd been moments earlier. The beast swayed on its feet for a moment, then fell forwards and hit the earth with a resounding thud.

A stone retaining wall abruptly stopped the roll Hook had thrown them into. She grunted at the impact but his arms were around her still and he pulled her tighter so that her back was no longer pressed against it.

"The eye." Emma winced at the hoarse croak that was her voice all of a sudden. "You need to stab it in the eye."

Hook's eyes narrowed, but he got up and turned from her without question, picking his dagger up from the ground and approaching the unconscious ogre. A quick strike and it was done; the ogre's corpse gave a great shudder then finally, inexplicably, disappeared entirely.

Emma shut her eyes and let her breath out in a relieved _whoosh_. The adrenaline drained from her and she could no longer stop the flood of memories from the past twelve years. They swirled in her mind and fought for dominance, easy happiness pressing up against hard truth. Believing in magic and fairy tales was both so much harder and so much easier the second time around.

"Swan."

Hook's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She blinked rapidly but her gaze moved past him to the fallen tree and the space where the ogre had been. Emma tried desperately to hold onto the problem in front of her, to the ogre and the disappearing corpse and the magic that had saved their asses. What had happened that brought magic back to this world with Storybrooke gone?

"It shouldn't be possible."

He ignored her statement. "How did you know about the eye?"

Emma's brain refused to catch up to his question, still fixated on trying to sort out what magic was doing in New York City. Reaching out, she toyed absently with the edge of his coat. Whatever protection spell she'd used was still there and she wondered if Regina had hidden magic lessons in amongst the false memories.

"Magic shouldn't…" she trailed off. _Exist_, part of her wanted to scream. _Be here_, the rest of her — the real her, the sheriff, the saviour — finished silently.

"_Emma_." His tone jerked her out of her stupor and she finally looked up to meet his gaze. "How did you know about the eye?"

She tried to summon the memory that her adrenaline had grasped onto — a grassy plain on the edge of a forest, tripping over a rock, Mary Margaret with a bow — but the explanation wouldn't come out and her mouth opened and closed uselessly.

He sighed and sat down next to her against the retaining wall. "Do you have the potion still?" She nodded. "You need to drink it, love. This will all make sense if you do."

"I don't need it."

"Yes, you do. You need to remem—"

"—Hook." He stared at her as she cut him off, hope simmering barely concealed in his eyes. "I don't need it," she whispered. "I remember. I just… I need a minute."

He released a breath she hadn't realized he was holding. "Aye. Nothing like a skirmish with an ogre to jog the memory."

"Something like that," she muttered, but didn't correct the assumption. _Coward_, she cursed but it was all too much still. The memories, the ogre, the fact that he'd tried true love's kiss to bring her back, the fact that he'd _come_ _back_ at all, the fact that she'd tried true love's kiss and it had worked… The silence stretched between them as Emma struggled to get her bearings. A choking mixture of grief and gratitude filled her chest and she wondered what "normal" would be now that she had two lives in her head.

She hadn't talked about it with them when the curse was broken — hadn't felt like talking about any of it really. But almost everyone else in Storybrooke must have had this same feeling at some point. Had it been easier for them to reconcile the two because one existed solely to be miserable? Had she been truly happy, or had she and Henry just been riding the coattails of the memories Regina had given them?

"How long has it been?"

"A little over a year."

She nodded, trying to let the new information sink in. "How long have you been…"

"Searching for you?"

Emma glanced at him quickly and realized she probably didn't need the answer to that question. "You said my parents are in danger?"

"That's a bit of a longer tale. Emma, perhaps we should head someplace else."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Taking a deep breath, she started to push herself up off the ground but Hook stood first and offered his hand. She took it, and suddenly couldn't bring herself to let go. Stepping into him, she wrapped her arms around him tightly. Hook froze for an instant, then his hand wove into the hair between her shoulders as his other arm came around her lower back.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For coming to get me."

"I wouldn't be thanking me yet."

She didn't say anything, just tightened her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

"It's good to have you back, love," he murmured into her hair. Then his arms loosened around her and he pulled back to look at her. "I saw a pub a short walk from here, perhaps a drink while I catch you up?"

Emma smiled. "That sounds like a really, really good idea."


	2. Really Not the Time

_a/n: tumblr prompt for saviorout (written pre-Kansas) who wanted Emma yelling at everyone but Hook for once. _

Oh god, this was so not the time.

Her mother was in labour and there was a literally wicked witch out to steal the baby and use it as the last ingredient in a spell that would apparently erase her entire existence along with her mother, her son, her unborn sibling, and Regina. And yet—

"Wait, so Glinda the Good Witch told you the only way to stop Zelena was to cast the dark curse?"

Mary Margaret winced, though whether because of the question or a contraction she wasn't sure. "Well, not... technically. She said that only the most powerful of light magic would be able to defeat her and we knew that meant you were our only hope. We had to get back to you."

"How were you going to do that anyways? I mean, you didn't send the message or the potion to Hook, but you knew I didn't have my memories. How were you going to get me to come back to Storybrooke when you were _cursing yourselves_ and knew you wouldn't be able to leave?"

"I was able to go to Boston to adopt Henry the first time. Your mother would have been able to bring you back — if Zelena hadn't added the memory loss and a flying monkey border patrol." Regina had both hands on her hips like she didn't even want to be in the room, let alone in the conversation.

"But she did! The curse hurt you guys more than it did her, and she already had Walsh keeping an eye on me, she knew she'd get advance warning if someone tried to come and get me. You cursed everyone for nothing!"

David crossed his arms. "Not for nothing. For you."

"How can you even pretend that this was about me? You did it for yourselves. If you'd done it to get back to me you would have done it sooner. You would have found another way before Zelena even had a chance to threaten your child! Did you even know what her plan was? Why she wanted it? The whole time travel thing? Did you know I was also in danger or did you just decide you needed the Saviour to get you out of your mess?"

"Emma, there was no other way."

"Then how the hell did Hook get here?" she screamed. Regina turned to the pirate as if to ask him exactly that but Emma was verging on hysterical now and couldn't stop if she had wanted to. "Glinda _told_ you the only way to defeat her was light magic so you decided to cast a curse created by the _Dark One_ that was designed specifically to take away happy endings and you're surprised it blew up in your face? Why didn't you find another way? Why didn't you find me sooner?"

"I... we knew that you and Henry were happy. We wanted you to have that." Mary Margaret sounded so small and defensive and in pain and _oh god she was a horrible person_.

"Yet you didn't hesitate to take it away when it was suddenly inconvenient to you and you still wonder why I wish I could go back to New York!"

"Enough! There is a baby coming. Everybody get out!"

As one, they all turned as Dr. Whale and a nurse entered the already crowded delivery room. Emma's mouth opened and closed on its own and she suddenly couldn't make eye contact with anyone in the room. Pushing her way past them and out, it took every bit of determination she had not to make even more of a scene and start running. Making for the nearest exit, she broke out into the fresh air and tried to force herself to calm down with deep breaths. She needed to breathe. Needed to be _away_. She just- she just needed- she needed...

"Rum?"

Emma gave a breathy, still somewhat hysterical laugh and pushed the hair out of her face. "God, yes."

Hook popped the flask open with his teeth and held it out to her. She took a long drink before pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. The fresh air was helping, a little, as was being away from everyone.

It wasn't even strange to her anymore that Killian wasn't someone she needed space from.

"I should go back," she said after a few minutes of silence. "Apologize."

"You've nothing to apologize for, love."

Emma turned to look at him but he was facing away from her and she'd never felt the distance between them more keenly. She hated Zelena for cursing him and doing this but knew that she was just as responsible for the divide between them.

"Still, Zelena might— I should..."

"Aye."

She took another swig from the flask before handing it back to him and turning towards to hospital. When it was clear he wasn't planning on coming with her she stopped and turned back.

"I'm not going to ask how you did it, but thank you."

She waited a moment longer, but he kept his back turned to her and gave no sign that he'd even heard her. Taking a deep breath, Emma dug her nails into her palms and walked back towards her family.


	3. A Mother-Daughter Talk

_a/n: This was cannibalized from a longer never-to-be-finished fic about Emma figuring out how to build a home now that she knows that she has one._

"So, you and Hook."

Emma's helping her mother out at the loft and between the two of them they're making their way through a mountain of pastel-coloured bibs and onesies that could probably hide an adult. Emma can't help but roll her eyes at the turn in conversation because, _really_? It's barely been a couple of weeks and she loves her mother but Mary Margaret has never been Killian's biggest fan and _this is not a conversation that she ever wanted to have with anyone ever_.

"Are we seriously going to have the parent-disapproving-of-their-daughter's-boyfriend talk?"

"You are then. Dating, I mean."

"We're not, like, having candlelit dinners at Granny's and taking romantic walks on the beach if that's what you're asking."

Emma watches as her mother smoothes the fold of a bib with all the focus of a woman determined to make her questioning seem casual. "Why not?"

"We're… trying to be discreet." Mary Margaret is clearly waiting for her to go on so Emma sighs and stands to put away the pile of folded clothes. "It's just, with everything going on with Regina and Robin and Marian... I don't want any problems if I can avoid them." She had done her best over the last couple of weeks to give Regina her space and had encouraged Henry to spend as much time over there as he wanted but sometimes it still felt like she was walking on eggshells around town.

"So you're keeping it secret."

"Not secret. We're together, we're just... like we were before. Plus, like, feelings and... tacos."

Emma's glad that she's still turned the other way when Mary Margaret sputters into her tea and she has to hide her chuckle. "Please don't ever tell me about the tacos." A gurgle coming from the baby monitor draws both of their attention for a moment but Neal hasn't fully woken up yet and when she turns around Mary Margaret finally makes herself meet Emma's eyes. "Honestly though, Regina will get over it in time; she's not the same as she used to be. And if Hook is what makes you happy then you deserve to not feel like you have to hold yourself back from everything that comes with being in love."

Emma decides to ignore the _being in love_ remark because while she knows how Killian feels about her and she knows where her feelings are headed it's not something she's ready to admit to just yet. "It's fine. Everything's good," she says, sitting back down on the bed.

Mary Margaret covers her hand with her own, "As long as it's what you both want."

She smiles, but lets the conversation fade as Neal's cries pull her mother away.


	4. Requisite Hook Gets his Hand Back Fic

_a/n: Written in view of recent spoilers/speculation._

It's a cold afternoon and he is sitting in Emma and Henry's apartment waiting for Emma to return from dropping her son off at Regina's. With Elsa's magic still unpredictable she has been driving him around town more and more.

The door opens and he sits up on the couch, watching as she pulls off her hat and coat and comes to join him. She kisses him in greeting and leans back into the cushions, fingers toying with the edge of his sleeve where it hangs off his stump.

"Henry found something today in Gold's shop and he wants to ask you about it but he's not sure how. It's a little..." she hesitates for a moment before meeting his eyes. "Sensitive."

Killian frowns. "The lad shouldn't fear talking to me about something. He knows that the Crocodile and I have set aside our quarrel."

"He found your hand, Killian." _That_ brings him up short and his gaze flicks down to her fingers on his sleeve. "Gold confirmed it was yours. He said you could have it back."

His brow furrows at the thought of his left hand sitting on Rumplestiltskin's mantle for centuries but the memory of that day is still uncomfortable. "While I dislike the thought of it sitting on a shelf like a bloody trophy, it'd be a tad out of place amongst your decor. Don't you think, Swan?"

She doesn't buy the deflection. "That's not what I asked, Killian."

_Oh_. He opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

"You don't have to decide right now. Gold draws the line at re-attaching it, apparently, but he's willing to teach me how."

He has never taunted himself by imagining what it would be like to have two hands again. He tells himself that he remembers what it was like, but like so many of his memories they are facts that he has repeated to himself over the years. He can't recall the actual feeling of using his left hand.

When he doesn't reply, Emma kisses him chastely then heads over to the kitchen and sets to work on the dishes. He twists around on the couch to watch as she holds and turns each plate in her hands, not having to fill the sink and wash each dish as it rests at the bottom.

He allows himself to imagine it.

* * *

He makes love to her that night. They lie together on her bed afterwards and he props himself up on his right elbow to lean over her. He trails the side of his hook along the length of her body — from shoulder to thigh and back again.

"It doesn't matter to me, you know," she says softly, shifting to catch his eyes. "I don't think any less of you. Nobody does."

He says nothing, just leans down to kiss her. He knows she's telling the truth, but he has committed violence and murder in the name of his "accessory" and he does not want to be remembered for those deeds alone. He knows they will not be forgotten, nor fully forgiven, but he is _more_ now. Or at least, he tries to be. Tries to be worthy of her.

And it would be nice to no longer worry about damaging her furniture.

* * *

"Okay," he says a few days later. They haven't spoken of it since that first night but she knows what he's referring to without having to ask.

She doesn't question whether he is certain, just presses a kiss to his lips and pulls a box out from the hall closet. He raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. "I didn't like the thought of it on display in the pawn shop — regardless of what you decided."

She sits across from him and places the box at their feet. He pulls off his shirt and removes his brace as she pulls it out. It is strange to see and know that it was once his. Stranger still to think of it being his again.

Emma holds his left hand in hers, his stump in the other and smiles at him. He smiles back and looks down as there is a glow of white between them, so thick that for a second he can't see through it. When it dissipates Emma is still holding his hand and his wrist.

He curls his fingers around hers.


	5. Rocky Road

_a/n: Because if the Storybrooke icecream parlour isn't run by Anna and Kristoff I will eat my shoe._

Emma is nervous, and it takes a minute or two of standing outside Killian's door at Granny's, telling herself that she's being an idiot, before she finally knocks. He opens the door and her gut clenches when he doesn't smile upon seeing her.

"Didn't expect to see you this evening, Swan."

The flat tone of his voice makes her wince. She screwed up today and she knows it. But she also knows that she owes it to both of them to try and fix things. It's neither right nor fair to expect him to constantly be the one to put himself out on the line for them.

"I know," she says. "I'm sorry. I'm bad at this, I always have been."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm more than a tad out of practice myself."

She shoves her hands in her pockets and shifts back on her heels. He may be out of practice, but at least he knows what it's like to be in a healthy, functioning relationship. Even if it was over three centuries ago.

"I'm trying. It's never going to be smooth but I- I want to try. I was hoping…" She wets her lips, takes a breath, and starts again. "I was wondering if you wanted to go get some icecream together. I hear Kristoff makes a mean rocky road."

His brow knits together. "The roads in this town are all paved, Swan."

Emma bites her lip but can't fully stop her smile. "No, it's, uh, a flavour of icecream. I thought it'd be ironically appropriate for our first date, given today. You don't have to have rocky road, obviously. You can have whatever you want. I was just, you know…" She trails off to stop her rambling and meets his eyes with a shrug. They've brightened since he opened the door and he's looking at her now with open amusement. "My treat?"

Killian leaves the door open as he grabs his new, shorter leather coat from the closet next to him. "Lead the way, love."


	6. After a Disastrous First Date, a Second

_a/n: Vaguely based on recent spoilers/speculation. Because 4.04 looks like it will rip out hearts out in a million ways._

She's sitting on a bench by the docks when he gets there and he stops in his tracks a few paces behind her. He hasn't seen her since the previous night — that perfect, beautiful, glorious night that had ended in an awful mess. Their _date_ had been his chance. His chance to show her that he belonged, that he was a gentleman, that it was right for them to be together like this. After the way they had parted, he hadn't dared hope to see her again so soon. He was almost afraid of what it meant.

(Did she know he would come here? Had she sought him out to end their fledging romance so quickly?)

Killian steels himself and walks around to her cautiously, his steps slow and measured, right hand trailing along the back of the bench. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."

She doesn't say anything, just twists open an ale sitting by her feet before holding it out to him. He accepts it with a nod, sitting down next to her, careful to keep an adequate amount of space between them in case his fears are right.

Emma twists open a second bottle and takes a long swill, rubbing the back of her neck with a wince as she rests the beer on her leg. The cold bottle leaves a dark circle on her thigh and he averts his gaze, drinking from his own bottle to distract himself.

Silence settles itself between them and he wishes he knew whether it were friend or foe. He wants to apologize, wants to ask what she's thinking, wants to erase everything about the past twenty-four hours. Almost everything. He never wants to forget how beautiful she had looked at the start of dinner, how she had smiled at him and taken his hand as they entered the restaurant together.

Their drinks are mostly finished and still she hasn't said a word, just continued to gaze out across the water apparently content to leave him in his state, barely daring to hope.

Finally, she takes one last pull from her drink, tipping her head back to drain it, and looks at him. He meets her eyes with raised brows and her fingers press into the back of her neck again, easing some pain or tightness there. He wishes he knew if it were still his place to ease whatever pain was troubling her.

"So, my day was terrible. How was yours?"

Her tone is so light and conversational that he snorts. "Absolutely miserable."

Her mouth open into a wry sort of grin and he smirks back, finishing off his ale. Emma holds a hand out for the bottle and their fingers brush as he hands it back to her. His eyes flicker to hers and then she is leaning in and pressing a brief, chaste kiss to his lips.

"I have to go and pick Henry up. Next date is up to you, pirate."

She's stood from the bench and is already walking away before he can fully process her words. Killian rises as well, his left hand gripping the corner of the bench as he calls after her.

"This was a date?" His voice sounds breathless and it hits him then just how easily she could bring him to his knees.

Emma turns back around and shoves her hands in her pockets. "Yeah, our second." Her smile is full of mischief and _gods_ but she is the brightest thing he has ever seen. "Don't take too long figuring out the third — you know what traditionally happens."

His brow furrows of its own accord. "I do?"

She laughs at him. Flat out laughs in his face but it's happy and light and he wasn't sure he'd ever get to hear that sound after last night. "Yeah, you do."

She's walking away again and he's still trying to sort through her words because he is _rotten_ at this realm's courtship and _he_ _has to get it right, damn it_.

"Swan?" he calls again. She keeps walking, neither turning nor slowing her pace, but he knows she can still hear him. "What happens on the third date?"


	7. Dinner In

_a/n: Just a short one. There might be a second part to this from Killian's pov, we'll see how much procrastinating I do on the fic I should be writing later. _

Emma stands with her hands on her hips, staring into the open fridge. This would normally be about the time where she'd head down to Granny's for dinner but she just can't muster up the will to deal with people anymore today.

What she wants to do, strangely enough, is cook. But Henry's with Regina so she also... doesn't want to. She never did, back in her real memories from Boston and all the cities that came before. It never seemed worth the effort just for her.

And okay, maybe she's still not the world's best cook. She doesn't do the three-course meals for two (what's the point of a fancy green salad anyways?) and Regina didn't pass on her lasagna recipe when she gave them the fake memories (there's a line, apparently, and that was it) but she's got her go-to standards and she's not half bad. Solidly in the average "mom" category with the ability to impress if needed, if you ask her.

But if she doesn't have the energy for people anymore, she _definitely_ doesn't have the energy for her parents and Baby Neal. She loves them, but she has her limits.

That leaves just the one option if she wants company for dinner, and Emma closes the fridge to do a quick sweep of the apartment, making sure it's clean enough to invite him. (Clean enough that it might regularly be so tidy, yet not so clean that she made an obvious effort.) It occurs to her that this will be a new step for them and the thought makes her smile as she grabs the dirty cutlery from the sink and loads it into the dishwasher.

The time on the stove tells her it's still early enough that he won't have ordered his meal at the diner yet. It's a calculated move on his part — Ruby told her about it not long after she and Henry moved into their new apartment near the boardwalk. On nights where Emma doesn't have her son he sits in a booth and waits to order until he's certain she won't be coming to possibly join him. (Which she does, more often than not, but especially once she realized he was waiting for her.)

She phones the diner and has Ruby call Killian over to take it. ("This line is for pick-up orders only, you know," she says, but Emma can hear her smirk.)

"Swan?"

"Hey, are you busy?" There's a crash as she pulls out the pot she needs and she winces, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Are you alright? What do you need?"

She sucks in a breath because of course — of course he would ask that. He was sitting there, just waiting to see if she might join him for dinner and he knows how awful her day has been. Of course he'd jump to anything she might need. (Which is _him_, at the moment. Just him, just his company so she doesn't have to be with people tonight but doesn't have to be alone either.)

"Can you come over?"


	8. Granny's To-Go

_a/n: Spoilers/speculation for post-4.02. Tumblr prompt from emeraldromance who asked for "Something to do with Emma almost freezing... ends with Killian bring her hot cocoa with cinnamon, saying "Granny's to go..." Fluffy? :)" and I figured I should get this one out before it gets canon-balled over the weekend._

Emma pulled the fluffy robe tighter around her as she opened the door to the guest bathroom at Granny's and stepped out of the pleasant steam that had taken over from her shower. She bone-weary but not cold anymore, and while the thought of bed was tempting a part of her wished that she had the energy to stay busy. To stay moving after having been literally frozen in place for hours.

There were footsteps coming up the stairs and she knew who it was from the sound of the boots. Emma shut her eyes and let herself lean against the wall, waiting for him to join her in the hall connecting their rooms.

"I thought I'd heard the water shut off. Are you feeling better, Swan?"

"Less like a popsicle, so that's a good thing — right?"

"Assuming you don't want to feel like a _popsicle_ any more than you would an icicle, I'd call that a definite improvement." He offered her the cup in his hand and Emma took the drink gratefully, wrapping both hands around and breathing in the familiar scent.

"Hot chocolate?" she asked, bringing it to her lips for a careful sip.

"With cinnamon. Granny's To-Go Service."

He rolled forward on his feet when he spoke and she smiled, holding the styrofoam to her chest. The hot liquid warmed her further, heat seeping all the way down to her toes.

Killian gave her a small, fond smile and scratched behind his ear. "You should get some rest, love."

Her eyes had slipped closed and she blinked them open, shaking her head. "I can't."

He huffed. "I think nearly freezing to death entitles you to a night off, Swan. The young queen will be there in the morning."

"No, I mean..." she took another sip of hot cocoa while her still-foggy brain pulled up the words. "The whole time I was in there it was _don't stop moving_, then _don't stop talking_, then eventually _just don't close your eyes_. I'm just... I'm not ready to go to sleep yet."

He tilted his head and she knew what he was thinking. She might not want to sleep, but she was practically dozing off leaning against Granny's wallpaper.

"Might I suggest viewing some Netflix then? From what I've gathered it is ideal for mindless entertainment."

Emma touched a hand to his arm and forced her feet to move, crossing the short distance to her room before turning back to him.

"Watch with me?"


	9. A Few for the Road

_a/n: Based off a tumblr prompt from jadeddiva who asked for "Based on your user name: I have a fierce and mighty need for a bookstore romance - AU or show, Emma and Killian in a bookstore being adorable."_

Emma sat in a large, comfy chair tucked into a corner of the bookshop. She had two books tucked into the side of the cushion and was flipping through another, waiting for Killian to finish perusing the stacks so they could head to the registers and pay. She'd found an interesting travel book with plenty of pictures and was quickly filling in her mental list of places they could go. Her family had been surprised that they weren't going on a cruise or to a beach resort for their honeymoon, but when they'd talked about it Killian had been insistent of some degree of sight-seeing and Emma, well, Emma didn't like handing the reins of her first vacation in years over to anyone else.

So a Great American Road Trip it was — if her soon-to-be husband would ever finish choosing some books for the trip. They'd been at the store for well over an hour by this point with no sight or sound from him once they'd gone their separate ways. She was beginning to wonder if he hadn't gotten lost or been crushed by a wayward bookshelf.

As though (finally) summoned by her thoughts, Emma glanced up from her travel book to see him coming towards her, a stack of over half a dozen tome in his arms.

She frowned and closed her book. "I thought we agreed on no more than four each. Where are we going to pack these?"

"It was hard enough just selecting these. But they don't all have to be for the trip, love."

"If you would let me buy you a kindle or something we wouldn't even have this problem."

Killian crouched to set his books down in a neat stack by her feet and leaned towards her instead of getting back up. "It's not the same. And I doubt I'll need much distraction or entertainment on the trip. Given that it will, after all, be our honeymoon — there's only one way I plan on occupying my time."

He had kissed his way across her shoulder and up her neck as he spoke and Emma didn't bother to hide her shudder as he sucked gently on her pulse point.

"I distinctly remember you wanting to _go places_ and _see things_ on our honeymoon. Which means _I'll_ be occupying my time with driving places."

"Not my fault you refuse to be toured by one of those companies."

"Now you want _company_ on our honeymoon?" she teased.

Killian drew back from his nuzzling to meet her eyes, his expression all sincerity as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "No, love. I just want you."

She smiled and leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

He grinned as he drew back and tapped the book in her lap with the side of his hook. "Now, show me what you chose, love. Perhaps I'll be able to put one of these back."


	10. Dream Your Walls Down

_a/n: Post-4.03 fic based off the premise that Emma's walls come down when she's with Killian, and that forgotten memories sneak through in dreams._

The first time it happens is the first time she stays the night with Killian. Emma wakes with a start — panting, hand pressed to her chest, heart beat loud in her ears. She had thought that, by not sharing living space with a baby, she'd finally get a full night's rest, but her chest is tight and she can't even remember what woke her.

Beside her, Killian stirs, hand reaching blindly for her across the bed.

"Alright, love?"

His voice is rough and scratchy with sleep and she exhales, breathing out a soft "Yeah." She lets him tug her closer and shuts her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart enough to go back to sleep.

* * *

The Snow Queen keeps getting away from them. Each time they track her down, she seems to know just where to strike to buy herself time and enough of a distraction to slip off into the woods once more. It's infuriating. David tries to tell her it's just how their family works — protecting rather than going on a pure offensive. He insists that it's not a weakness, that there's no shame in it, that they'll get her eventually. _Good always wins_, he says.

But it's more than that. It's like the Snow Queen knows her, can anticipate her moves, knows how to shake her to her core and throw her off her game. Each encounter leaves Emma more frustrated than before. It feels like there's something about the woman that she should _know_. Some missing piece that keeps eluding her.

* * *

She doesn't dream when she stays at the loft. At first she thinks that it's because her nights are always interrupted by Baby Neal, that she doesn't dream because she's simply not asleep long enough. It's a solid enough theory, in any case. (She really needs to get her own place.)

When she stays with Killian the dreams come on an almost predictable schedule. They've been getting clearer too — each night she dreams of the same house in the city, catches sight of her reflection. She's young in her dreams, probably just starting high school. There's a woman's voice — soft and delicate tones belying a deeper _something else_. Then something crashes to the ground, shatters into hundreds of pieces, and Emma wakes.

Some nights she leaves the bed to sit by the window, trying to sort through the bits she can remember before they slip away again. At times she swears it's the Snow Queen's voice in her dreams, but those are usually the nights where she's the most frustrated by her inability to catch Storybrooke's latest villain, by the lack of headway they've made on finding Anna, by every doubt she's ever had about herself.

Inevitably, her absence causes Killian to wake, and he brings her back to bed, quietly asking if she's okay, if the dream was any different this time. She shakes her head because it always feels like the same dream when she's in them and she snuggles into him, letting his warmth lull her back to sleep.

"Careful, love," he says one night. "I might start to take all this personally."

She hums and presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Even tired and rattled she can hear the teasing fondness in his voice. She wonders if the dreams only come when she's with Killian because subconsciously she knows this is where she's safest. She hasn't told anyone else about them — doesn't want them to worry — and Killian knows to simply offer his support and his confidence that she'll figure it out eventually.

* * *

He almost died. Again. The Snow Queen had managed to separate them and Emma had barely gotten to him in time. She'd almost lost him and the woman had dared to claim to be teaching her a lesson, that it was somehow all _her_ fault before disappearing once more.

She was shaking with anger and fear, ready to go and chase after her, end this once and for all. Killian grabbed her hand, tugging her back and she felt like the she was falling, the adrenaline making the earth tilt. She felt so _helpless_, and she let him pull her into him, her fury gradually changing into choked relief.

"Next time, love," he murmured, hand combing through her hair. "We'll get her next time."

* * *

They were frantic that night, all hands and hard, desperate kisses. This time, when the dream woke her, she shot up in bed to find Killian already awake, watching her. It had been different this time, clearer, and she pushed away from him to roll out of bed, heading for the washroom.

Emma turned the cold water on full blast, splashing her face and trying to wake up fast enough to remember everything. She vaguely recognized that she was shaking, the dream and the day before mingling together. She tried to pull them apart in her mind, to separate the Snow Queen from the dream, but she couldn't. Her fist slammed onto the counter in frustration and the mirror over the sink shattered.

She froze, eyes wide, staring at the broken pieces still on the wall. She couldn't separate reality from the dream, couldn't pull the Snow Queen out of it because she was there, had been there teaching her a lesson when she'd broken a mirror once before. It had been an accident then too, had been magic, she could see that now. And it had been real. It had happened.

The Snow Queen... she remembered her.

Killian found her on the floor opposite the vanity, hugging her knees to her chest. Heaving a sigh, he shut off the tap and stepped around her, sitting next to her so he could lace their fingers together.

"I think these are something more than just dreams, love."

"They are," she whispered, closing her fingers tight around his. "They're memories."


End file.
